


The Head, The Heart, The Whole Damn... Thing

by sebviathan



Category: Psych
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Dialogue, Confessions, Dialogue Heavy, Episode Tag, First Kiss, M/M, s04e15 the head the tail the whole damn episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 23:59:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11047059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: "Lassie, we're comrades now. I do this all the time, I can walk you through this! This is just theweirdpart of the spit-out-a-crazy-theory process. You say it—everyone thinks you're crazy, you're incompetent, you should probably color your sideburns.... Truth: we're one in the same."





	The Head, The Heart, The Whole Damn... Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This stems off of the [_if it's all right, then you're all wrong_](http://archiveofourown.org/series/744243) universe, but it isn't necessary to read those fics first. There is, meanwhile, a vague reference to the events of _[Within Your Reach](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10875738)_.
> 
> This ep just overflows with shassie development and potential, and is frankly a perfect spot for Something to reasonably happen, so. Have this extremely self-indulgent thing. 
> 
> Also, ngl, this will be way more fun to read if you've recently watched the episode as well as Jaws. In fact, I watched Jaws for the first time in my life before writing this, and if you've never seen it, I'm not sure how well some of the references will play out, but....... that's also how Psych is, canonically speaking?

**1980**

 

Even if they could have afforded it, his mother would never have allowed an anxiety-ridden, six year-old Carlton go see Jaws when it first came out in theatres. No matter what kind of chance it was for him to spend time with his rarely present dad.

According to her, in retrospect, it wasn't such a great idea to allow an eleven year-old Carlton watch it now that it's out on VHS, either.

But Carlton, personally, thinks it was a _very_ good idea! Because if he didn't have his heart set on being a police officer before, he sure does now. Of course, he _absolutely_ already did after seeing Dirty Harry (also against his mother's better judgment), but Chief Martin Brody holds another kind of charm for him to admire.

That, and it appeals to his readiness to save people from danger, which his anxiety is always _sure_ exists.

"Stop right there, Mikey!" he shouts from his lifeguard chair (which is a regular pool chair but next to the Boss Lifeguard chair), blowing his whistle for the fifth time this hour. "You're supposed to walk _carefully_ around the pool, and be sure the area is clear before jumping in!"

Mikey rolls his eyes and jumps in anyway, but not before saying,

"Whatever, Carly!"

Carlton's face gets hot with anger like it does every time he hears that nickname, and he quickly tries to hide it because he knows how red his face can get.

Meanwhile the actual lifeguard, Harriet, is leaning over from her chair and smirking. But he doesn't notice until she says,

"Don't let 'em get to you, kid." That only makes him frown, having heard that phrase far too many times. "And don't take this job too seriously, anyway. It's not like you're getting paid for it outside of free snacks—and neither am I, but... that's because there's not too much to worry about. Point is, you're my extra _eyes_ , Carl. You don't need to be my extra mouthpiece, too, unless someone is like, drowning. Don't make me take the whistle away!"

She sounds like she's only joking with that last bit, but Carlton is still scared for a moment. The thing is... it is _very_ hard for him to not take a job seriously.

And he volunteered to assist the community pool's lifeguard this summer for two easily nameable reasons. Firstly, he wants to be in charge of something, of which opportunities are rare when school is out. And secondly... because he's one of the only kids in his grade who _still_ can't swim, so he needs an excuse to be out of the water.

Then there are some not so easily nameable reasons, one of which is that Carlton truly does want to protect people the best he can. Even assholes like Mikey.

Regardless, Carlton does try, for a little bit, to resist the urge to boss other kids around, especially the ones older than him. He knows from experience that that never goes well.

But then he sees something break through the surface of the water. And seeing it—it's like all logic flies out the window, and his heart starts pounding like mad. It's grey, and sharp, and it's heading straight for a girl named Kimberly.

Carlton jumps out of his chair at once, and blows his whistle as hard as he can.

" _SHARK!_ Everyone out of the pool NOW! There's a shark in the—!"

Before it quite registered to him, about half of the people in the pool started laughing. Now, those who did instinctively start rushing out look extremely annoyed. And the shark fin he saw is no longer right on top of the water, but rather strapped to a kid's head. A kid he recognizes as a friend of Mikey's.

"Carlton," Harriet sighs, which almost makes him feel worse than the laughing. "There couldn't possibly be a real shark. It's a _pool_."

At least one group of his classmates, on the other side of the pool, are now taking turns shouting _shark_ with expressions of mock-terror, pointing, and laughing with each other. Carlton tears his eyes away and tries desperately to find his voice.

"I mean, I thought—it could have swum in from a pipe—!"

God, that sounds so _stupid_ now that he says it out loud... Maybe it really wasn't a good idea for him to watch that movie.

"...I'm gonna go home," Carlton eventually mutters. He'll be in big trouble for walking home on his own instead of waiting to be picked up, but it's worth it in this instance.

He takes the whistle off of his neck and sets it down on the chair before grabbing his things.

 

*

 

**Modern Day, 2010**

 

"That's so _thin_! You're acting insane."

"No—what's _insane_ , Spencer, is that I've been listening to you for the past several days. _This_ is who I am. I am comforted by the facts, and these facts solve crimes. This was a shark attack, not a murder."

Shawn purses his lips and shakes his head insistently.

"Lassie, mark my words: There is something in that shark. Why else would somebody steal my dad's and open the thing up?"

"I don't know, Spencer!—Maybe, maybe someone wanted the reward money and they... figured out they got the wrong one."

"That doesn't make any sense," Gus says, probably speaking for all of them. Shawn doubts even Lassiter entirely doubts it, but the man still turns around and says, with full confidence,

"O'Hara, check any, uh—snorkeling excursions, whale-watching tours, see if anyone had a Dante Pavan on the docket." Then he turns back. "Bye, gentlemen. This is where we part ways."

Before he leaves, he gives Shawn a look that is undeniably—though perhaps only to someone with as sharp eyes as his—full of regret. He neglects to watch him go and instead grimaces to himself, ignoring the ache in his chest.

A few days ago, he remembers—the day they found the corpse of Dante's Inferno or whoever he is, Lassie told him that this was his fault. Even Jules agreed.

 _"You got all up in my head,"_ he'd said.

It's still crazy to think that Lassie actually admitted that out loud and to his face. So crazy, in fact, that Shawn himself has been a little scared to think about it in depth... as much as he wants to know exactly how this is his fault.

More accurately, exactly how _long_ , in what manner, and to what extent he has apparently "been in Lassie's head." And whether he should feel proud, or sorry, or both.

He feels both of those things anyway—as Lassiter puts the line down between them and their methods, and even later, after they've solved the thing and gotten that old fisherman arrested.

And _later_ later, when he and Gus are being interviewed by reporters from the Santa Barbara Courier, Shawn truly does wish that Lassie could be there, reveling in the victory with them. Even if it couldn't be through so uncharacteristically following his gut, or otherwise doing things Shawn's way.

He's never _really_ wanted that, anyway.

Another couple days later, when the article comes out, Shawn isn't lying in the least when he tells Lassie that he did him justice.

 

*

 

**Psychic catches killer, solves shark mystery**

_Shawn Spencer, local psychic consultant for the SBPD and co-partner of the detective agency_ Psych _, has discovered the unexpected truth about the shark-attack victim who washed ashore on Monday._

 _The victim has been identified as Dante Pavan, an ocean activist from Seattle who led the group_ Oceans First _, and the culprit was in fact not a shark, but local crazy fisherman William Tanner._

" _[Tanner] wanted Dante off his trail for a multitude of code violations," says Spencer, as he had psychically discovered. "So he stabbed him, put some chum out to attract a shark, and dumped him out to cover up the murder."_

_But not well enough, as Spencer continues,_

" _The first sign I had that it was foul play didn't come from [his psychic gift], actually. The SBPD's_ brilliant _Head Detective Carlton Lassiter kept me off the scene while_ he _noticed a wound that looked slightly different from the others. That was the stab wound, and it sparked the whole investigation."_

" _We couldn't have done it without his initial observation," Burton Guster, Spencer's non-psychic associate, agrees._

_Tanner was apprehended by Spencer and Guster on Friday, while he attempted to catch the shark that ultimately killed Pavan and cover up evidence. He is currently in police custody and awaits trial._

 

While Carlton still would _never_ have picked up the newspaper while Spencer and Guster could still see him, he finds himself truly, deeply grateful that they would praise him so publicly. Particularly the former, if he's being honest with himself.

He hasn't recently, though, outside of the past few days.

And now... so, _so_ many things from this investigation are at the front of his mind.

Not anything regarding the case itself, but. Spencer, so loudly and openly expressing _pride_ in Carlton for taking a page out of his book. Sounding more undeniably genuine than he ever has. _You should feel liberated,_ he'd said. _Believe in yourself like I believe in you._

At the time, Carlton could only think that that was easier said than done. Now, he's more focused on exactly how much Spencer _meant_ those things... and others.

Until O'Hara comes right up behind him and snaps him out of it.

"Hey, is that—oh!" She lets out a laugh. "Sorry, Carlton, I didn't think I'd startle you..."

"You didn't," he lies, though he can't hide the fact that he jumped in his seat.

"Uh huh. Anyway, mind if I read that article when you're done?"

He just now realizes how long he's probably been staring at this thing, and then very nearly shoves the newspaper right at her, to her added surprise.

"Go right ahead."

 

*

 

Shawn is about to microwave a lean cuisine when the door to the Psych office opens, in walking Lassiter with a rolled-up newspaper in hand.

"I'd say that six hours is kinda long of a wait to ' _and another thing_ ' me," he starts immediately, "but I've got at least six _years_ of a stretch between some of my arguments. Mostly with my dad. A couple with Gus, though, and one with Kevin Bacon, believe it or not—"

"I'm not here to ' _and another thing_ ' you, Spencer," Carlton interrupts while he still can, fighting off an amused smirk. Then he tosses the newspaper onto the desk. "I'm just returning the spare newspaper."

"Gee, Lassie, you shouldn't have!"

He frowns, both at Spencer and himself. "And I wanted to say... that I appreciate what you said in the article. Even if you certainly weren't helping with the ' _Detective Dipstick_ ' talk mid-case, and even though the Courier is hardly a real newspaper anyway, and..."

Carlton trails off, seeing the way Spencer is looking at him. Now he's almost too embarrassed to speak at all.

And Shawn can't help but grin even more than he already was when he notices the red tinge to the other man's face.

"Well, what else are friends for, Lassie?" He pauses, but in that moment Lassiter is almost certainly gearing up to deny that they're friends, and Shawn _cannot_ give him room to say that. Not this time. Not when it's only the two of them.

So he quickly adds, "Besides, of course, keeping each other from being framed for murder, or occasionally giving each other credit on cases, or routinely saving each other's lives, or getting each other's modes of transportation out of a police auction... Just to name a few examples."

Shawn shrugs like all that was inconsequential to say, but the truth is that it's all burning him up just as much as the other man is. For a moment, he's even worried that he crossed a line. Half of that, he's never brought up at all before.

Carlton, meanwhile, mentally has one foot out the door. But for some insane reason, he remains where he's standing, and even _worse_ , he opens his mouth and says,

"I'm not an expert, but I'm pretty sure they're _not_ for constantly butting heads."

"And that's why you're not an expert! Lucky for you, Lassie, I _am_ —and _as_ the friendship expert between the two of us," Shawn says slowly, crossing the office to the edge of Gus's desk, "I've had an epinephrine that makes both of our lives a lot easier."

It takes Carlton a second to understand, and then he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You mean... epiphany."

"Uh, no, that's gross. I'm saying that I've _realized_ —as excited as I was and still kinda am to see you jump on the crazy train with me—I'm honestly glad that that's so rare! I'm _glad_ that our methods are different, because _that way_ , Lassie, we make up for each other's shortcomings."

Shawn smiles and gestures enthusiastically outward, waiting for him to agree.

The corner of Carlton's mouth ticks up. "Did you get that from Guster?"

"Yeah, pretty much verbatim," he admits without a second thought. He's still smiling, but softer now. "But I mean—he's _right_ , right?"

After a couple seconds of intense staring between them, Carlton takes a breath and starts nodding.

"I... yeah, I—you know what, he absolutely is," he tells him. "O'Hara has more or less said the same thing, even."

"Well, that definitely settles it, because Jules is never wrong."

He can't argue with that, but hearing it makes something spike up in his chest, and Carlton is sure that in the next minute he'll be agreeing and then saying this was a good talk and finally _leaving_ because he's done what he came here to do—

Then Shawn leans back on the desk and says,

"Here's the thing, though." He just can't help it. "I still really wish you could've followed through with me on this thing, Lassie."

He could still reasonably walk right out, but Carlton just grimaces instead. "We've been through this, Spen—"

"Yeah, but here's _another thing_ —" Shawn hops back off the desk and steps closer. Carlton holds his grimace. "Listen. You don't _have_ to 'spit out five crazy theories just to get one right.' You don't have to put feelings or vibes before the hard evidence, and you don't have to risk wasting police resources when the stakes are low, and you don't have to _be me_ , but _man_ —!"

" _God dammit, Spencer_ —"

Maybe it's more than just the past minute of what's felt like taunting, maybe it's been this whole week leading up to this, _maybe_ this has been building up even longer than that... But every passing word since _another thing_ has become lodged in Carlton's throat. Every second has been another degree of heat in his chest and another degree of pure _anger_ —both at Spencer, for getting so deep in his head all over again, and at himself, for letting him.

He jerks his head toward the exit, wishing that he could bring himself to ignore all of this, and lets out a mirthless laugh. Then he balls his hands into fists and lets out the rest.

"The truth is, Spencer—I fucking _wish_ I could be you!" That effectively stops him. "That's what you've always wanted to hear, right? That I wish I could stand in a crime scene for two minutes and already see the missing piece like you do, that I wish I had the instinct and the confidence to _trust_ that instinct no matter how little it makes sense... Well, I _can't_ , Spencer, okay? I hate it and I hate to _admit_ it but it's true, and the fact of the matter is that I _can't_ because I just—I don't have your abilities! I can't _do_... what you do. And that's just it."

It should be difficult to keep facing Spencer after saying all that, but Carlton doesn't know where else to look. That, and he _needs_ to see his expression. He needs to have _some_ inkling of how he feels.

And for several seconds, Shawn merely stares back.

The thing is, Lassiter has already been one of the very few people in Shawn's life to manage to render him speechless. But... never quite like this before. He doesn't know if he _ever_ expected something quite like this.

What he does do, eventually, after some rapid blinking, is rear back a bit and smirk.

"...Are you finally admitting you believe I'm a psychic?"

" _Please_ ," Carlton scoffs at once, almost outside of himself. But somehow his chest isn't heaving so much as it was. And he might as well, while he's ahead. (Or so far behind?) "What is this, three years ago? You know I've spent an inordinate amount of time with _both_ of your parents, right? You think I don't know?"

Well.

Shawn _was_ indeed aware of that.

But he's never been sure that that fact would ever wind up out in the open—because now that it is, so is the notion that _if Lassiter wanted to take that evidence to the Chief, he'd have done it a long time ago._

"That is... fair," he says, sounding absurdly casual. "Okay. I'm not gonna pretend that it's something unattainable like talking to spirits—but _Lassie!_ What I was _going_ to say... is that your problem—no, what _my_ problem is... is that you _do_ have good instincts. You had it with the knife wound, and I _promise_ you that it wasn't a fluke because you've done it before, too! I've seen it! But you just... you hesitate too much, Lassie. You've been a cop for so long but you don't trust your gut and you _hesitate_ when it counts and I..." Shawn catches himself, and sighs. "It's frustrating!"

 _All I want is to help you be the best Lassie you can be,_ he thinks like he's thought a thousand times before—and he can only hope that it's obvious.

And to Carlton it is, though not in the same words.

He can only think to stay angry, in spite of the other feelings pushing their way through. _Because_ of the other feelings pushing their way through. Because even after all this, after everything he's gone through... he's still fucking _operating_ on Spencer's praise.

"Well, maybe I do, but as we've established, that's who I am. I'm just so sorry that it _frustrates_ you, Spencer—I can't imagine what that's like!"

This time he finally does make a move toward the exit, but Shawn steps forward and grabs him by the elbow.

God, normally he'd have let Lassiter go _long_ before now. Normally he wouldn't have the courage to push it like this, especially not after seeing the terror that briefly flashes across his face. But after this case Shawn _needs_ to make him understand.

"Would you let me finish, Lassie? I'm actually trying to be serious for once—and if you don't believe me, just look at the poor, thawing lean cuisine on the counter, which I could _absolutely_ be eating right now!"

Carlton hates himself for hanging back. "So you're prioritizing me over a freezer dinner, thanks a lot—"

"Not just _any_ freezer dinner... it's a chicken carbonara lean cuisine," he says, both sounding and feeling quite serious—and somehow managing to convince Carlton a little, too. "And if you just listened to me, you'd have realized that I'm saying you're a good cop! And that's why you _need_ to trust your gut, Lassie—but even if you don't or you can't..."

Lassiter frowns expectantly, looking on the verge of trying to leave again. And Shawn knows that physically holding him back a second time just wouldn't be fair.

"You still do good police work," he repeats from what Lassiter said earlier. "And I respect you for it, because none of this would work if you didn't!"

Shawn holds him by both arms, now, though Carlton is still reluctant to get his hopes up.

"...You got a punchline coming?"

"Depends, would you like one?" The other man just glares. "Well, why would you ask me if you didn't want one? Nevermind. Here's the thing. Yes, I get to make up for your shortcomings. But you also make up for _mine_. I can't do the formal part of it! My arsenal may encompass a lot, but the drudgery of real police work isn't in there, but that's okay because _you_ ," he enunciates by poking Lassiter in the chest, "can. We've got a mutualistic thing here—a symbiosis, if you will."

At that, Carlton almost forgets everything that has led up to this, forgets his previous anger and _any_ desire to leave, forgets how close they're standing... and simply gives Spencer a very strange, confused look.

And Shawn frowns back.

"What, you don't agree?"

"No, I'm... surprised that you know what symbiosis is."

"What, you think I don't watch Shark Week? Speaking of which, did you know that _remoras_ cling to passing sharks, getting free rides across the ocean and free food, meanwhile the sharks keep clean because the remoras eat their parasites."

He looks proud of himself. Carlton almost laughs, both at the comparison Spencer is trying to make and because he's known all this since age 8.

"...Yes, I did."

"Did you also know that some sharks will even seek out remoras actively? And sometimes sharks will just eat them."

Now he actually looks a little sad... for the remoras? But Carlton needs to get the topic off of sharks before he gets flashbacks of all the nightmares he had as a kid about swimming in a pool full of them.

He shifts, somewhat nervously, and folds his arms.

"I didn't, actually. So, you were talking about all the stuff I can do that you can't?"

" _Right_ —and vices versed. It's balanced. We _fit_ , man," Shawn tells him, locking his fingers together for emphasis. "You're the head of this operation, Lassie, and I'm the heart. And Gus and Jules are the stomach and liver, but that's neither here nor there—"

"Hold on—" Once again, Carlton frowns, and he unfolds his arms so he can gesture with one of them. "I can't believe I'm arguing with this, but you're actually _not_ calling yourself the brain?"

"I did no such thing. Or—I _did_ such thing... I called you the _head_ , Lassie. Everyone knows that both the head _and_ the heart have brain in them."

Shawn gives him that _gotcha_ look, then smiles innocently. Strangely enough, Carlton is breathless as much as he's disappointed in whoever taught him third-grade anatomy.

"...You know you sound crazy, right?"

"Do I? Well, fair accusation because it's a common occurrence—but here's what I do know: The heart can't beat unless the brain tells it to, and the brain can't function unless the heart pumps oxygen to it."

Funny that when he says that, Carlton's heart starts to beat very, very hard. Shawn's does the same, but he already knew it would.

"We _need_ each other, Lassie!" he continues, grabbing onto the other man's biceps again. "Sometimes I have nothing to get hunches from without your police work, and sometimes you have no leads without my hunches. We're the _perfect team_ —like Brody and Hooper."

Carlton is about to ask what he's talking about, but recognizes the names half a second later.

"Are we still on sharks?"

"We never weren't."

Shawn says that so softly, with his hands still on Carlton's arms, that it's crazy that he responds to his stupid Jaws reference.

"You're not an oceanographer, Spencer."

"Well, I'd like to say I at least have Dreyfuss's rugged charm."

" _Well_ —"

"The point is..." Shawn sighs. "You might not like it, but I do my thing, and I jump around and put a hand to my head with _zero_ shame and pull hunches seemingly out of nowhere—and _I_ don't often like it because I'm just too impatient, but you follow the rules and gather only the indisputable facts. And when we put those together, it overlaps and it _works_. It's what solves cases and puts away the bad guys and _isn't that what matters, Lassie?_ "

Carlton blinks. And again.

He becomes intensely aware of the grip on his arms, and of the pounding in his chest. And though he's obviously very close, Spencer looks like he's far away. Carlton remembers to breathe and snaps himself out of it.

"It is," he agrees, nodding. There's a briefly sense of deja vu. "And it does work— _we_... we do good work. Maybe with a lot of unnecessary shenanigans in the middle of it, but... good."

On Shawn's end, that looked like the verbal equivalent of passing a kidney stone. Regardless, he only thinks to say,

"Oh, Lassie... One of these days you'll come to realize that my shenanigans are _extremely_ necessary."

" _Occasionally_ necessary, at best."

"I'll take it! I'm happier than you can _know_ that we could come to this understanding, Lass. In fact, I think this is a _great_ time for you to take advantage of my renew policy for hugs." With that, he finally removes his grip, but keeps his arms up and an expectant look.

_And there it is._

You'd think the past thirty minutes might have loosened him up enough, but Carlton is still inclined to follow his nature—to close in on himself, to tighten his lips, to _force_ himself to cool down.

Which is easier now that Spencer is no longer touching him.

It's also easy to focus on Spencer's lopsided smirk and on the stupid joke he _had_ to make for this offer, and to find it all annoying. Though not nearly as easy as it used to be.

"...I think you should microwave that lean cuisine before flies get it," he says, nodding to the counter.

And then, before he can screw this up by making an expression that's too telling, or catching a hint of genuine disappointment in Spencer's face, he turns away for good.

 

*

 

He makes it about six steps out the door before his feet decide to take root. Or—something in his brain _tells_ his feet to do that.

That same thing is making his heart thud like drums in his ears, effectively telling him that he's _making a mistake_. Or he _could_ be making a mistake. He could be making a mistake whichever way he goes, couldn't he?

God.

 _What_ was _all that?_

Carlton can't know what Spencer was trying to say. If he was just on some manic rant or if he really wanted to make sure that he agreed, or if it was yet another case of Spencer _messing_ with him, or, or... Or a confession?

But there was just so much, so much that he _can't_ wrap his head around it all right now, and... he's terrified. There's no lying to himself that he's not.

Spencer's voice echoes in his head.

_"You hesitate too much."_

He _knows_ he does—he always does and he always _has_. It's what he thinks ultimately killed his marriage, even, long before he actually realized it.

It's what's kept him from doing _anything_ about this thing between him and Spencer—about his _feelings_ , the feelings that he hasn't had the energy to deny in a long ass time. And he especially knows it now.

Carlton knows that every single time Spencer has made any kind of pass, he has been too afraid of the risk that Spencer was messing with him. No matter how irrational that worry became, considering the incident with Drimmer, and the night after Yang, and a number of other moments that are seared into his memory.

And he knows that he hasn't made any attempt to get over it, let alone pursue any other people in over a year—not even after Spencer got a serious girlfriend.

Right now, he remembers that Spencer and his girlfriend broke up months ago.

He remembers—that is, the part of his brain that keeps him standing here _makes_ him remember... well, this whole goddamn case.

Spencer being visibly, _unmistakably_ proud of him. Saying he believed in him, without a hint of sarcasm. Alluding to them being soulmates, even if he used the word 'platonic.'

_"Lassie, I have never been more in love with you than I am at this moment."_

God, for the past few days he's had a hard time believing that part actually happened. It still feels a bit like a dream.

_God._

No, _no_ , this is—

"Alright," he mutters to himself, still standing in place.

Carlton takes a deep breath, nods vigorously to himself, and turns back toward the Psych office. _Alright._

He pushes open the door, which feels heavier than before, and spots Shawn at the counter, watching the microwave.

"Lassie!" he says, sounding pleasantly surprised, but personally unsure if he's actually happy about it yet.

Carlton's legs seem to drag against the floor like iron weights, and his heart is in the top of his throat.

"Oh man, if you ' _and another thing_ ' me right now—"

Carlton's left hand finds the rough edge of Shawn's jaw, and his right grasps at his collar, and his eyes shut, and he finally, _finally_ does not hesitate.

And Shawn—

_Oh my god._

Shawn, for all of his hyper-observant abilities, cannot honestly say he expected to be met with this when Lassie walked back in. Maybe seeing him walk out in the first place just knocked all his hopes down.

But he kisses him. He kisses Shawn, and his heart is back in his chest but it's burning him up so badly and this is _crazy_ because he has thought about this so so so many times, and—

And Shawn, who is so often cool and collected and ready for everything, needs a second or two to orient himself. Once he does, he desperately reaches up for Lassie's face with both hands and kisses him back.

Both of them, in very quick succession, let out a noise of pure relief.

And both of them, in quicker succession, cling harder.

Too soon, the microwave dings and startles them apart, and for a terrifying moment they have nothing to do but stare at each other in alarm, and think about the consequences of what they just did. What _Carlton_ just did, really.

In the next, Shawn leans his head back just slightly, and his kiss-swollen lips stretch into a grin.

"Ask me what day this is," he says.

Carlton frowns, vaguely wary, but he does it.

"What day is it?"

"Wednesday—no, it's Tuesday, I think."

Once again, it takes him a second to realize what the _hell_ Shawn is talking about (that they really _never weren't_ on sharks), though Shawn can't begrudge him that at a time like this. Especially not when he rolls his eyes, breathes a laugh, and plays along.

"...Think the tide's with us?"

The way Shawn beams with pride, then, renders Carlton so breathless that he can't imagine why he was ever afraid of this.

 _Oh, it absolutely is,_ Shawn thinks, promptly pulling himself up by the back of his neck to kiss him again—quickly, and briefly, again and again and again.

"Hey, Lassie," he mutters, in between kisses.

" _Mm?_ "

"You want to split a lean cuisine?"

**Author's Note:**

> The flashback to Lassie's childhood is honestly something I wish could have happened in the episode instead of the kinda pointless flashback of Shawn being afraid to swim because of Jaws 4. It's also totally ripped from my own childhood, minus the fact that I was negative 16 in 1980 and that I only recently saw Jaws. The recurring nightmares about swimming in a pool full of sharks is also my own thing. Despite that, I was always the Shark Kid.
> 
> For those who haven't seen Jaws, or haven't seen it recently enough to remember, the "what day is this?"..."think the tide's with us?" thing is some of the very last lines of the movie. Brody and Hooper should have kissed around that point, tbh.
> 
> And I'd just like to say that _And Another Thing + Kiss_ is a grossly under-appreciated subtrope.


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